Lucky
by Kittieth
Summary: I remember the last time I was free. At H.I.V.E. Academy, there are two kinds of people: those who matter. And those who don't. I remember me. I'm Jinx. DON'T ANY OF YOU GET IN MY WAY.


'The Haven', the sign says, pulsing electric blue into the air over the doorway of the old post-office building

**_Lucky_ by Kittieth**

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not, in anyway, own the Teen Titans. Every character belongs to and will remain that way throughout the rest of this story. Based on the exquisite novel, _Alyzon Whitestarr_ by Isobelle Carmody.

**Authors Note: **I stopped watching Teen Titans when I was about twelve, but one character that caught my eye and remained with me for the past years was Jinx. Now, as I said, I stopped watching the show, so I don't know what happened to her, but I have researched her history a bit, and this is what I got.

This is the story of Jinx—from her hopes, to her dreams, desires and hate. She is a girl you'll never forget.

Prologue : Kitty

**Karen's Story…**

'The Haven', the sign says, pulsing electric blue into the air over the doorway of the old post-office building. From inside, the insistent music leaks out, and the footpath is crowded with couples and small groups smoking and talking and kissing.

_The two huge security men, holding up the wall outside, nod to her as she passes between them and one of them even manages a wink and the primitive imitation of a smile. At the entrance, two blonde girls dressed in scarlet great-coats and peaked caps open the outer door, and as the volume of the music increases, Karen waves a familiar hand in their direction._

"_Not exactly your first time here, is it?"_

_She doesn't answer. Instead, she turns as she reaches the inner door, to give him a knowing smile. Then she pushed the door, and he watches it swing inwards._

_The wall of sound hits them like a physical presence as they enter. The room is packed, and it seems as if everyone in the place is linked to the rhythm pounding from the speakers—even the couples standing around the walls and crowding the small space just inside the door. Shouting to be heard, sipping their drinks. They touch each other experimentally, while a foot, a tapping hand, shoulders or the hips keep unconscious time with the music._

_Karen, as usual, is dressed to fit the part. A short detour from the café where he met her and fifteen minutes behind the closed door of her bedroom have effectively transformed her._

_A creature of The Haven, her dress is short, and her heels are high. The material of the skirt falls softly around her hips, swaying easily with each step, translucent silver, beaded and cut provocatively over one shoulder, plunging diagonally, and finishing with a thin diamante belt. It shimmers in the low light and catches the flashes of the lasers and the flickering of the strobe, reflecting back the colours of the revolving spots._

_Castell has left his jacket in the car, but he still feels conspicuously out-of-place. Fortunately, there is little time for embarrassment, as Karen grabs his hand and drags him towards the centre of the boiling mass._

_Her touch is electric._

_And The Haven is her element. A brilliant being, at home in this ocean of humanity, she swims with its currents, exchanging greetings and handshakes, brushing cheeks and distributing air-kisses to those too far removed for an intimate greeting. And all the while holding on tightly to his hand, as she draws him towards the heat of her domain._

_She makes no attempt to introduce him._

"_Waste of energy," she will explain later, during the short lull when the DJ gives way to the evening's live act, and he thinks to ask. "They don't count. They weren't the ones I bought you here to impress."_

_Beside the stage, in a small alcove off the main floor, just left of the huge bank of constantly-changing television screens. Bella, Claire and Marie wait expectantly, and it occurs to him that Karen's arrival with a total stranger is a choreographed event._

"_Is this him, Kitty?" Bella shouts, before Karen can introduce him and Karen throws her a glare to melt glass._

"_Castell," she shouts, recovering from her composure, "this is Claire, my flatmate, and Marie, and the one with the big mouth is Isabella. Bella, to those of us who haven't scrubbed her from our Christmas lists … _yet_."_

_Bella is Brazilian. Long straight hair falls past her waist, held back by an intricate arrangement of clips and braids. Conscious that it is her most striking feature, she is moving to the music, so that it swings like a shining curtain around her._

_Marie is blonde. Pale skin and eyes, which, when they catch the light, are faded grey. She smiles sweetly._

_And then there is Claire. Irrepressible when she says hi, and instantly open. Pretty, and warmly confidant._

_But now Karen is grabbing his hand and dragging him into the centre of the action._

_On the dance floor the noise is deafening._

_The ecstasy beat, someone once called it. A driving, thumping presence, as regular as technology can create it but just about impossible to dance to without some chemical assistance …_

_Unless the energy is already wound up inside you like a tight spring. Craving some kind of release._

_Something in him feels the music, the muscle-memory takes over and the rhythm is everything._

_Karen moves like she was born dancing. No self-conscious glances at the other dancers, no fear. Dark eyes hold his gaze, and she dances for him, her hips fluid, her motions sensual, as her arms rise high above her head and she allows her gaze to follow the delicate movements of her fingers._

_The light reflects from smooth skin, and he remembers the warmth of her touch._

_She lowers her arms and passes them down the sides of her body, past her hips, caressing the movement and bending her knees, swaying always with the rhythm. And those eyes return to his, fixing on him as she straightens again, running the tip of her tongue across moist lips._

_She turns slowly around, her eyes holding his, her body living the beat._

_Then her arms reach out to draw him into the dance and he is lost in the movement._

_The heat of the close-packed crowd and the all-enveloping sound from the huge speakers banish all thought._

_He is the dance, and Karen owns the dance, moving around him, touching, retreating, holding, releasing. Her eyes on his, then spinning from him, to lose themselves in the crowd and the lights. But always in control._

_As the music pounds …_

_When the slow dance begins, she stands before him expectantly, swaying to the gentler rhythm of the unfamiliar song._

_He watches a single bead of perspiration drop from her face and roll down the neckline of her dress until it disappears between her breasts. Her dark eyes are unblinking, waiting._

_Embarrassed, his arms reach out, almost formally, but she slips inside them and slides hers around him, linking them loosely behind his neck, moving her body in time to the music. The perfume on her neck is sweet. Citrus and floral. And her touch is warm._

_Too warm._

Matching her movements, he begins to sway, his feet shifting to guide her slowly in a circle. Something in him is distantly aware of the music, but his motion is governed by the shifts in her body, the soft touch of her hands on his neck, not by anything he can hear. She leans in closer, until her breasts are pressed against him and he can feel the circling motion of her hips.

_Eyes closed, he tries to distance himself from the reaction._

It's just a dance …

_A moment, an age later, the music ends and the movement stops, but though she steps back, dropping her hands to her sides and standing still before him, part of her still seems connected. Her gaze has not left his face._

_A few moments, then she breaks contact._

"_Time to go?"_

_Moments later he is trailing her out of the club and into the quiet cold of the Gotham rain._

People go missing every day. In every country on the planet.

Some die, some choose to begin a new life with a new identity. Some just disappear, and no amount of digging can unearth what happened to them. My mother, Kitty, disappeared one day in nineteen eighty-one. She walked out of Aviva's house, climbed into her car, and … disappeared.

Maybe if they'd thought to look for her while the trail was warm, they might've discovered something. Maybe not. I'll never know.

When I was thirteen I bothered with questions. For weeks after Calypso had finally left for the academy—my dream home—, I made Aviva make enquiries for me, as I was too young for such a feat. But I was a smart kid, despite my frightening appearance. I knew what I wanted from people—and what I wanted was to find out what happened to my mother. _My_ blood.

Armed with her name, Aviva and I tracked down her parents, my real grandparents, but they had no wish to talk about their failure. Their shame.

Sitting in the lounge of their comfortable home, with its Bible in a glass case in the corner, and a wood and brass crucifix on the door, I wondered on their take of Christian forgiveness. On their superstitious nature—because I knew, even before meeting them, that my mother was just like me. My mother was a Jinx.

They were polite, but I made them uncomfortable. After all those years the wound was protected by a thick layer of scar tissue, and they were not inclined to begin picking at it. Especially for the daughter of the daughter of the Devil Himself, who had knowingly chosen a path so far removed from their own.

The police report, when they located it, created more questions than it answered. Her car was found beside the freeway leading out of Gotham, the morning after she'd left Aviva's house. It was out of petrol and unlocked, and the theory was that she had left the other way, into the city, intending to return for it later.

She never did.

A number of letters were sent, in increasingly strong language, and an officer was sent to the house, but there was no missing-person's report filed, no follow-up was ordered. The car was eventually towed and impounded. Much later, it was auctioned to recover costs and the funds paid into general revenue.

The agent who had returned to her house waited until the arrears exceeded the bond, then informed the owner, who entered the empty house, boxed up the few belongings my mother had left behind and arranged a new tenant.

The box was dispatched to the tip.

And my mother officially ceased to exist.

Did she choose a new life, to fall pregnant and then dump her child on her life-long carer's doorstep, in the hope that she would provide her daughter with a better future than the one she might bestow?

Did she accept a lift with the wrong man whilst her daughter was at home, alone in the city streets searching for a job and the "better life"?

Or is her fate in the files of the emergency department of some hospital? Karen (Kitty) Barnes, Caucasian, early twenties, the power of bad luck, a jinx—drug overdose. DOA …

And her daughter …?

Me. Pale, odd, powerful.

I am Jinx, like the hex; like the bad luck you get in those clichéd movies that leave you sick, but hungry for more. It hadn't been intentional, I'll give my mother that much credit—it was fate. Or, to be totally disgusting, it was luck. Lucky fate. Sick fate. Terrifying fate.

Now start to believe in my superstitions … And I'll make them come true.

**Authors Note: **So, there's the prologue. Updates might be slow on this, as I'm writing about four stories at the moment (some of you may know me better as rozen(underscore)maiden on harrypotterfanfiction and fictioncentral). But I hope you like this story, and believe me, it does get better (this was just the prologue, and I must admit, it was quite crappy '). There will be the Titans, battles, Slade—but most of all, there will be the secrets of the H.I.V.E. academy, love, and the inner workings of the mysterious Jinx. I spent a lot of time planning out this novel, so please tell me what you think, and review. I'm not quite sure how to respond to them properly, but you'll probably receive an email from me in return concerning any questions and comments. I can't live without responding to my reviewers ;)

Thank you for reading this far and check back for an update soon!

With love,

Kittieth (a.k.a.: Mahalia)


End file.
